


Potential Energy

by Alethia



Series: Starting to Finish [9]
Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: Comfort Food, Cooking, Episode Tag, Ethical Dilemmas, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-22
Updated: 2004-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:40:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’d protect the people you love, right?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potential Energy

**Author's Note:**

> Post-ep for 3.03 "Under the Influence." Originally posted on LJ [here](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/106377.html).

“You’d protect the people you love, right?”

Eric cocked his head, hyper-aware of the fact that he was blinking at Calleigh, standing stupidly in the middle of the break room and probably looking lost. “That’s—an unusual question. Everything all right?”

“Yes, fine. I just—”

“Want to know if I’d protect the people I love.”

“Right.”

Eric nodded. And thought about it. “Well, yeah. I mean, it would kinda depend on the circumstances. I wouldn’t break the law. But, yeah.”

And _that_ was a monumentally stupid thing to say. He knew it as it was coming out of his mouth, wished as he said it that he could shove it back in. Eric didn’t even need to see the slight stiffening of her spine, that smile that he _hated_ come out to play.

“Right. Thanks.”

She started to go and he didn’t even think— “Calleigh.”

“No, it’s fine.” Insistent, that. Patented Calleigh when she dug her heels into something. Just great.

“Calleigh.” Firmer because she was about to bolt and would _never_ bring it up again. And God was he stupid. Too stupid to live, even.

“Really. But I have to go. Because I have a job.”

“Tox screen,” he said, low enough that even if there were other people around they wouldn’t be able to hear. And that—that was a direct hit, Calleigh turning slowly, in that way that normally meant really bad things, things that conjured whips and chains, but that could be fun where Calleigh was concerned. Not that _that_ had happened. Or would ever at the rate he was going.

And, okay, control issues so she’d never go for it even if—but that wasn’t the point. Why was he thinking about this again?

The frosty silence of the break room filtered in and oh yeah. She was still looking at him like she wanted to murder someone, though it didn’t seem to be him at the moment so that was good. Though she really didn’t look focused so it could just be undirected anger that she’d pin on him once she stopped running through calculations in her head.

Well, it had to happen sometime…

“Calleigh?” Her attention snapped back to him, like a physical shock when you’re not ready for it, unexpectedly pushed off a boat and into the ocean when he was thirteen. He still hadn’t forgiven his sisters for that little embarrassment.

She moved forward, and again, no one here. But he wasn’t going to say anything because he really wasn’t suicidal. Though some days with this woman…

“How did you know about that?” Bland curiosity could have fooled a lot of other people, hell, could have fooled him a few years back. And it was—good that he picked up on it? Maybe.

That whole ‘ignorance is bliss’ thing? Totally making sense.

“Uhh—well, Investigator. I investigate,” he said, going with the disarming grin. It could work, it could so work…

Really didn’t work. The narrowed eyes told him she wasn’t in the mood, the clenched jaw was just a bonus.

“Eric.” Oh, that was a warning: spill your guts before she gets her gun. Message received.

“Look, I asked H, all right? It slipped out.”

“You asked Horatio about my father’s tox screen.”

Well, when she put it like that—it sounded really bad. “It wasn’t like that. I—I don’t know. It came up.”

“Casual conversation.”

“No. It was—the case. We were talking about the case and it was procedural and totally not—like that.” It kind of annoyed him that Calleigh could get to him like this. He was educated. He knew how to speak well. He really didn’t appreciate it when his basic communicative ability fled every time she looked at him sideways.

That—for all his fumbling that seemed to connect and she visibly deflated, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, looking for all the world like the past few days had taken years from her.

“Hey,” he said, hand going to her shoulder, gentle, remembering what had happened that one time. “C’mon, it all worked out, right?” he asked, pressure so very careful, always had to be careful around her.

“Pure luck. Any other day, Eric. I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before. It could have; we wouldn’t know it.” And this was—one thing after another, always a crisis around the corner and Calleigh looked so defeated, _undone_.

Eric didn’t even think before pulling her closer, other hand looping around, pressing into the small of her back, leaning down, forehead resting on the crown of her head.

And this was—so dangerous. It’d be H walking through the door. The new kid—and he really hadn’t thought that would turn into anything, that H would move so fast, the ache of it still just beneath the surface.

Calleigh smelled like exhaustion, desperation and some very long days. The shaky breath torn from her—so uncharacteristic—said more than she ever would about sleepless nights and a bone-deep worry that had been around seemingly forever.

His hand rubbed at her back and really, she was _tiny_ , but she leaned into it for a moment that stretched. “Calleigh.” Whispered into her hair and hesitant fingers touched his sides. If they were shaking he couldn’t feel it.

“When did you become the most reliable thing in my life?” Less a question and more musing aloud, but Eric reacted anyway, could hurt himself for the instinctual stiffening at something that wasn’t mean to offend. At least, he thought so. Calleigh could hurt when she did, but she was usually more direct about it.

He stepped back before she got the chance, smile only a little bit bitter, her eyes some kind of regret. For what…that was the question.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” And whoa, way more than he thought he’d get, so he smiled again, stepped closer, invading her space. The great thing about Calleigh feeling bad about something? She gave him a lot more leeway.

“I know. And your question—” He thought of his sisters, his parents, hell, Calleigh. “I’d do pretty much anything to protect the people I love.” Calleigh’s swift surprised melted into some kind of intensity, before she turned her face away and stepped back, ‘safe’ distance firmly in place.

Pull and release. Like one of those rubber-band guns he’d rigged as a kid. He’d gotten pretty good at aiming those things. Learned all about the physics of it in school. Potential energy. That was them all right.

“I’ll—I’ll see you later.” Weird hesitation there and Eric smiled again, eyes sliding over her as she left.

Oh, yes, she really would.

***

The pot was burning his fingers. The pot was burning his fingers. If Calleigh didn’t open the damn door _rightthissecond_ —

Oh, thank God. “Eric, what—”

“The pot is burning my fingers.”

Her blank look would have been funny if he wasn’t in danger of being horribly disfigured for life. Desperate measures then.

He nudged the door further open with his foot and sent Calleigh an apologetic look, practically tripping into the kitchen and setting the damn thing down. 

So this was why his mother was always going on about pot holders. Huh.

“Uh, Eric? Care to tell me what you’re doing in my kitchen.”

He turned and grinned, beckoning her over with a nod and swinging the bag in his hand up onto the kitchen counter. “That would be bringing some culture to this apartment.” Really, it was so so—beige. Colorful food was precisely the answer.

And with such infallible logic…

She rolled her eyes and finally walked into the room—committing, finally—looking at the pot like it was a recalcitrant piece of lab equipment.

“It won’t bite,” he said, laughing a little.

“Did _you_ make this? You sure about that?” She peered suspiciously into the depths of the soup.

“Hey, I will have you know my cooking skills are top-notch.”

“Uh-huh.” Looking up, something lighter filling her eyes, and with that look there was no way he could keep from laughing at himself. Not that that was a new experience for him or anything. Hell, Speed had been pretty invested in—

Yeah. Anyway.

He shook off those thoughts and mock glared at her, but couldn’t help the grin that would just not stay under. “Fine, fine. But I know how to make this. My mother made sure of it.”

“And what’s _this_?”

“Ajiaco soup. And if you don’t sit and eat some of it soon all of my hard work will go to waste.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” She shuffled over a bit and poked into the plastic bag from the store. 

“Peeking?” he asked pointedly. 

“Returning the favor.” Charming smile and—and damn, that really did work. He hated it how she could manipulate people and make it work, even when they knew they were being manipulated. Those damn female skills.

He grinned and shooed her toward the table, watching as she sauntered over to the little table, those black trendy sweatpants-that-didn’t-look-much-like-any-sweatpants-he-knew clinging pretty damn effectively, long blonde hair swinging after her, beckoning. Too many distractions around this place, really.

She sat primly, framed against the darkness outside the window, kitchen lights shining off the glass. Semi-darkness out there, really. It never really got dark in Miami. He always had to go out to sea for that.

Shaking it off, he set about getting out bowls, already knowing where it all was from long familiarity with this place. He grinned at the spoons—‘cause that was pretty impressive, if you thought about it, knowing Calleigh’s place—but her curiosity was a leaden weight across his neck so, well, he should probably hurry things along. 

He quickly filled the bowls and stuck the spoons in, carrying them over with a grin. The soup was still pretty warm and smelled really good. He’d made damn good time. Probably because it was so late and on a work night. Eh, it worked.

Besides it was kind of fun making it for Calleigh. Reminded him of times long past.

“May I inquire as to the occasion?” she asked, smiling like this was something she found amusing but for different reasons than he thought.

“What? I can’t make soup just because I feel like it?”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow and sat back, crossing her arms, showing off cleavage and really, why did she need to show that off in her _apartment_?

He just smirked. “The intimidating look would work better if you weren’t wearing purple socks,” he said, looking at her feet with a grin.

“I will have you know these are lavender,” she said, huffy and cute as she always was when he pointed something like that out. It could very easily slip into self-consciousness so he laughed it off, shaking his head. They both quieted and he nodded to the soup.

“Eat. I just thought you could use a good meal.”

She looked at him for a long time—a long time for her, anyway—like she was trying to figure his angle. He let her, stirring and picking out the plantains first, so reminiscent of so many other times he’d eaten this, looking at her untouched bowl disapprovingly.

And that got her—manners, pointing them out, worked every time—and she quickly picked up her spoon and dug in, making the sexiest little sound in the back of her throat when she tasted it.

“Eric, this is good. You _made_ this?”

“Don’t sound so shocked.” He might have been a little defensive there.

She pressed her lips together and he grinned again, having fun teasing her. She waved her spoon. “Fine, fine. I deserved that.”

“Indeed you did.”

She took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Where’d you learn this?”

“I used to cook if my mom had to work late. She always made me do it because Marisa put too much garlic.” He grinned at the memory, pointing wooden spoons and rapid-fire Spanish. “Anyway, I got so used to it I could make this in my sleep.”

Something about Calleigh—softened. She smiled slightly and left it at that, continuing to eat her soup and looking at him every so often.

He liked her attention. Always had. Probably always would, so he didn’t say anything to spoil it. They ate in comfortable silence, no heaviness apparent, just being together. It was—something Calleigh liked but Eric didn’t exactly have a lot of experience with it. Calleigh was so unlike most—hell all—of the girls he’d dated. They’d filled up silences with idle chatter about anything, really, almost afraid of it. Doubly so in the darkness.

He really couldn’t say the same of Calleigh.

When he saw that she’d finished, he gathered their bowls and brought them to the sink, rinsing them.

“Now what, mister chef?”

He clapped his hands together and rubbed eagerly. “Coquitos.” And pulled out the stuff he’d brought to make them.

“What’s that?”

“You’ll see.” She sighed—Calleigh really hated not knowing everything. Granted, he did too, but that wasn’t the point. He was going to enjoy making her wait.

He got out a couple of pans and a cookie sheet, arranging everything how he liked.

“So very precise.”

He snorted and handed her the cookie sheet. “Here, make yourself useful. Butter that.”

“Putting me to work in my own kitchen…”

“Yes, you’re so abused.”

She smiled and went to get the butter. Eric opened the can of coconut and drained the syrup into the smaller pan. He mixed the coconut with the vanilla—and it was a good thing she’d had that because, well, apparently he wasn’t totally perfect with these things—and the brown sugar and soon it was mixing nicely and steaming. He grinned, feeling Calleigh come back to his side, peering into the pan. He turned the burner off and set it aside, moving to the other pan. More sugar and heat and stirring and he liked this, it was almost like science, how the ingredients mixed and caused reactions. He got that.

The smell of coconut filled the room, overpowering the stew, and Calleigh’s amusement was palpable next to him.

“What?” he asked, not turning, concentrating on the sauce.

“You’re very good at this.” Like she couldn’t believe it herself.

“First thing you learn—how to make the sweet stuff.” She snickered and he bumped her hip with his, nodding at the coconut. “If you’re gonna make fun, do it while being productive. Shape those into little balls, evenly spaced on the sheet.”

“Yes, sir,” she said sweetly, dodging his good-natured swat.

Soon the sauce was the perfect brown—his mother would be so proud—and she’d finished with the coconut. Eric poured the sauce over, smiling slightly with the way he had her full attention. That felt—good, something he wanted. He liked them when they were together, working or here, but especially here. When she couldn’t make excuses.

She looked at him expectantly when he’d finished and he grinned. “Sorry, gotta let them cool. C’mon.” He led her out of the kitchen and into the living room, collapsing on his spot on the couch.

She settled herself and looked at him like she was expecting something.

“What? This is as far as I got.”

She smiled and curled into herself. “Well, I guess you did all right.”

“Oh, gee, don’t be too effusive or anything.”

She nodded the point but didn’t say anything, slowly sinking into herself and staring at something he couldn’t see. He had the uncomfortable feeling she’d been doing that a lot when he wasn’t around. Eric grabbed her hand and squeezed, bringing her attention back, tugging her toward him. She only resisted a little, settling against him like it was something they did all the time, and he smiled into her hair, knowing she couldn’t see it.

“I wasn’t thinking, earlier.”

She nodded against him, but didn’t speak. He had learned—over a very long time—that with Calleigh it was best to wait her out. So he did.

“I surprised myself,” she said finally, what seemed like a long time later. “I just—reacted. I didn’t think I’d be able to do that, but I did.” Her voice sounded—clinical. Hollow. Like it was someone else, but there was something underneath. He suddenly wished he could see her face, but knowing Calleigh it wouldn’t betray anything.

“He’s your father.”

She shook her head, but didn’t turn to look at him. “No, it’s more than that. We hear stories all the time about how people didn’t think, they just acted. How they let their instincts take over. We can’t afford to do things like that.”

“Calleigh—“

“I was willing to cover up evidence, Eric. That’s what it was. You can pretty it up however you want. That tox screen would have been evidence against him and I made it impossible to collect. That’s—”

He reached an arm around her shoulders and pulled her body against him more securely, resting his chin on her head. “Calleigh.” Where the hell did he start with that? “You didn’t cover up evidence. It was never taken in the first place.”

“Because of me.”

“And it wouldn’t have mattered anyway because the vic was already dead.”

“Does that make it better?”

Eric sighed. “No, of course not. It’s just—okay, you’re right, it wasn’t right. But it was understandable.”

She sighed, the movement traveling through him in a rush of want he could almost _taste_. So unfair, the push and pull, the anticipation, only to be shot down. Especially these days when things were spinning out of control so damn fast and all he wanted was something to hang onto. And she did, too, he thought, but was committed to denying it.

“I don’t have the luxury of ‘understandable,’ Eric. I have a responsibility.”

“We all do. And yes, you do. As much as you don’t like it sometimes, you’re as human as the rest of us. You’re allowed mistakes and failings and imperfection. I know this. H knows this.”

“That still doesn’t make it right.”

“Would anything?”

She sighed again and didn’t respond, but she did wrap her hand around his arm, squeezing reassuringly. Her hand was cold. “When did you get so smart?” Accepting but still hard underneath that, an edge that hadn’t always been there, had just shown up so recently, in fact.

He smiled grimly and nuzzled behind her ear to distract himself, eliciting a shiver. “You haven’t been paying attention,” he rumbled, getting another shiver for his effort.

Calleigh squeezed his arm again and pulled against his hold, scooting forward and away, looking back at him. “The coquitas are probably done.”

He nodded, letting her off, as always. “Coquitos, Calleigh,” he corrected with a grin. She just rolled her eyes and made off toward the kitchen, Eric following behind. 

They were cooled off and Eric lazily popped one into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. He nodded. “Yep. That’s what I’m talking about.”

She smiled and took a small bite, then took a larger one. “Mmm, I love coconut.”

“I know.”

She looked at him appraisingly. “Did you really?” At his nod she continued: “How?”

“Your shampoo. Coconut.” He smiled, cocky and knowing.

“Oh, paying attention, are we?” 

“Always.” He popped another into his mouth, chewing deliberately.

Calleigh looked back to the tray, clearing her throat. “I’ll put these in a bag for you to take home,” she said, moving to a drawer.

“Nah, I made them for you. You should eat them. The soup, too, though we should probably stick it in some kind of container.”

“Eric, that’ll last me practically a week.” Even as she protested she went to find something to put it in. Kinda took the weight out of the argument, if he did say so himself.

“Good. Then I’ll know you have some good Cuban cooking around so you don’t waste away.” He looked over at her slyly, kind of disappointed she couldn’t see the effect, rustling around down there. “Or you could invite me back.”

She snorted, head stuck in a cupboard, coming out with Tupperware and a smile. “Oh, so that’s what this is about.”

“Expect anything less of me?”

She shook her head, exasperated, something she was used to, and went over to put the soup away. Eric took the opportunity to clean the few dishes he’d used, not acknowledging her when she finished and came back to watch him work.

“Good training,” he quipped, setting the last pan to dry and she smirked. He let the water drain and wiped his hands off on a towel. This was—good. She looked less worn, or at least more settled, and this way he knew she wasn’t sitting in this apartment brooding all night.

She turned and leaned back against the counter, an eyebrow raised, waiting for his cue. He closed the distance, tilting her chin up with thumb and forefinger, brushing a kiss against totally yielding lips. He did it again, deeper, something more behind the kiss, his hand cradling her jaw.

Calleigh allowed it, let herself be pulled against him for the barest of moments, enough to get a taste and want more, enough to remind him of sunlight on sparkling waters and laughter on a salty breeze, before abruptly breaking away and turning her head. And there was that shaky breath again.

Potential energy. At least he knew it affected her, too, even if she’d been pulling further and further away. He’d lost so much ground with her since Speed—but he wasn’t thinking about that.

Surprisingly, she was the first to speak: “You know, one of these days I’m going to show up unannounced at your place and make myself at home.”

He leered at her, friendly and knowing. “I look forward to it.” But man, Calleigh at his place? It was hard enough to leave hers. He didn’t know what he’d do with her there, something so shiny, always demanding his attention, amongst everything that was _his_.

Eric stepped back then, not wanting to go _there_ either, and nodded toward the door. “I’m gonna take off.”

She nodded and followed him to the door, holding it open for him. He paused at the threshold, turning back to her. “Oh, and Calleigh. If you do ever show up to cook for me, I’ve got one word for you: pralines.”

He laughed as she rolled her eyes exasperatedly, and dropped a quick kiss on her lips before she could shut the door in his face.

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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